


Final Fantasy Drabbles

by Mrs_Strife



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy XII, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Strife/pseuds/Mrs_Strife
Summary: A collection of Final Fantasy drabbles that I write while in study hall





	1. The Last Ancient (VII)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a collection of drabbles (100 word stories) that I've written over the years.   
> Some reference fanfictions I've already written, but I'll mark those for convenience sake :)

The last Ancient was dead. Kneeling at the Planet's altar, she was praying for its life only half an hour ago. She was a pawn in the Planet's sick, twisted game.

Now she was lifeless, her frail form resting in his arms, limp. The crimson stain that marked her pink dress stopped spreading; he stared at it emptily.

Sephiroth had the right to fight back, but this... This was going too far.

As the last of her sank into the cool water he stood in, he vowed to kill the man that murdered the Planet's only hope. The last Ancient.


	2. First Mission (VII)

Vincent straightened his black tie. His father left the grooms' quarters nearly five minutes ago, but his words still rang through the young man's head.

"Just remember who the enemy is, Vincent."

The day before, his mother gushed about how lucky he was to be getting married at the age of only twenty-one. He scoffed aloud. If only she knew what this really was.

He stood by the preacher stiffly, watching the veiled bride walking down the aisle, innocent. Suddenly, he pulled his pistol from his back pocket and fired into her smooth, pale forehead. His first mission-complete.


	3. Voices (VII)

Voices, voices, voices. Some were cackles, some were whispers. Whatever they were, he tended to ignore them. When he worked, they were merely low mutters.

No, Hojo wasn't crazy; he was _too_ smart to be that stereotypical "mad scientist." The way he saw it, he was innovative and _no one_ understood.

So what if his ideas only came from those voices? So what if they were the ones that had twisted his mind beyond repair? He was  _genius._

He shook his head, greasy ponytail swinging about. More of Valentine's screams could drown them out, perhaps. He got back to work.


	4. Rag-Tag Rebellion (VII)

Rufus Shinra peered out of his large office window, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"They've just taken the Highwind, Sir," his assistant reported meekly behind him.

The young president waved her off dismissively, intelligent cerulean eyes scanning over his dark empire. Street lights gleamed bright and house lamps glowed dim.

Meteor loomed overhead, casting an eerie red-orange over the large city.

What could Shinra do to save the Planet now? Avalanche had foiled plan after plan; there was no hope for his empire. All that was left was his money.

Perhaps that rag-tag rebellion really could save the world.


	5. Silence (VII)

Shera hummed to herself while she swept, trying to make up for the lack of noise. Things went downhill since the Captain left to join Avalanche. And really, that's not why he left at all.

Meteor was coming close; it was scary. But Shera didn't let paranoia bother her. She and the townspeople refused to scream and run like the rest of the world did. This was their home. No giant  _rocks_ would steal that from them.

No, she would stay and wait for her captain to come home. He would need someone to prepare his tea when he returned.


	6. Everlasting Anguish (VII)

In Nibelheim, you might see a mansion. A mansion with rotted walls and rusted gates. You might see dead flowers and cracked cobblestones. You might feel something odd.

You wouldn't see what the mansion had seen. The violets sprouting in the garden. The smiles of soldiers returning to their loved ones. The blood spilling onto its polished wood floors.

You wouldn't hear the laughter or the screams or the cries of terrified children.

You wouldn't feel the soft, tender touches between lovers or the blackened pain of death.

You would walk away from that mansion unaware of its everlasting anguish.


	7. Specimen (VII)

Shiny tables and scalpels and saws were scattered throughout the dark laboratory. One of the least welcoming sights one could wake up to.

But that was what Sephiroth awoke to every day. He would swing his thin legs out of his squeaky bed. His pale feet would carry him across the cold floor to his freakish guardian's office.

Professor Hojo wouldn't be anyone's first choice as a father-figure. His morals were more twisted than a tornado. He felt no pain, no emotion, no love. He couldn't possibly be human.

To him, Sephiroth was just another Jenova specimen to be tampered with.


	8. Demise (VII)

Reno leaned back in his chair, a shriek of protest emanating from its screws. A cigarette burned between two slim fingers. Its smoke rose toward the ceiling in an invisible stream of carbon dioxide.

He chuckled to himself sardonically. The thought of Tseng's demise never crossed his mind until it actually happened. The image of the invincible man bleeding out alone in some unknown temple was the most unsettling thing he'd ever imagined.

His lips sealed around the butt of his cigarette and he took a deep breath of deadly poisons. Might as well go out doing something he controlled.


	9. Masks (VII)

President Shinra knew nothing but masks. Not fun, slap-happy masks, but impenetrable masks of stoicism. To some, he seemed a bit cold. Maybe that was what he was shooting for.

You see, he simply  _couldn't_  allow his son, his  _heir,_  to be pampered. The public  _absolutely_  could not see him as a warm, fuzzy teddy bear whose laws could be manipulated to their benefit.

Perhaps that's why he was so bitterly resented by so many people. But, of course, no matter who was in charge the people would complain.

Perhaps, behind his mask, there was nothing but an empty shell.


	10. Machinery (VII)

They were heartless, ruthless beings with no morals at all. The Turks of Shinra Inc. were what one might describe as a secret police. But they were so much more.

They were machines. Unable to disobey. Programmed to kill. When one broke down another would replace it.

Their loyalty was constantly tested. Shinra Inc. itself was the real machine; they were the cogs. If they were to destroy a city and its citizens, so be it. Slaughter their mothers? An order was an order.

All machines come to a point where they are unable to resist their programming any longer.


	11. Daemon (XV)

Agonizing—the cold glares of humanity burned into his skull.

Exhausting—keeping up the act, pretending to be one of them.

Petrifying—those blank, stunned stares locked on the inky black stripes of his barcode.

The gentle beep that signaled his newfound entry was the only sound that broke the silence. All he had to do was back away and slip into the eternal darkness of Zagnatus Keep. His fearful blue eyes fell to the cold, hard floor as his heart sank to the very feet that carried him this far.

Liberating—the reassuring pat he received from Noct's hand.


	12. Alive (XII, UnShaekable)

Balthier was a man of no consequence. A symbol of evil with a heart of gold. A freed slave chained to the past. A lone wolf leading the strongest of friends.

Occasionally, he felt like he wasn't breathing. A tumbleweed blowing along in the wind, trusted for its dulled wisdom and widespread travels. His heart? A cold stone in his chest, knocking his ribs as lifeless as any other boulder.

And then he felt it. The brush of warm skin and the tangle of long brunette hair and the flutter of honey brown eyes and he remembered that word...

Alive.


	13. Dern (XII, UnShaekable)

The gun fired twice, and in a moment, his life was snuffed out. Shae's hands trembled relentlessly; the revolver clattered to the floor. Choking on strangled sobs, she fell and clutched the lifeless body of her former partner, pleading the Fates to turn back time, to erase her actions caused by a moment of slipped sanity.

The puddle was crimson, a deep, dangerous shade of death. It was as though she took a dozen fresh red roses and rung the color from their petals with her shaking fingers.

The color shook a shudder down her spine—Dern never wore red.


	14. Lost Cause (XV, Rayne Drops)

Her hair—golden in the sunlight. Her eyes—a shade of purple no amethyst ever captured. Her movements—smooth, perfected, strong. And her laugh, oh her laugh; it forced him to fight countless smiles.

When the smiles melted and all she wore was tears, he wanted to hold her. To clutch her like the lifeline she was. All he wanted was Rayne.

But he had his king to serve So, he pressed his glasses, grazed his scars, and bore it all the same, and Gladio swept the golden, purple, laughing beauty off her feet and far, far away from him.


	15. Frostbite (XIII)

Hope's blood ran cold as ice. Frostbite ate away at his pounding heart as the faintest falling figure of his mother disappeared into the darkness and crashed into the inky black waves below the Hanging Edge. Every muscle froze over at the edge of that bridge, his thawing eyes running water down his cheeks. The man who dropped her screamed as if  _his_  blood was boiling.

But he had no idea. He never knew Hope's mother and her warm, comforting presence. He didn't know her smile, her tender love.

And without her warmth, Hope's blackened heart would never thaw again.


End file.
